Droplets of Blood in the Snow
by Ocean's Timbre
Summary: "Standing stiffly to his feet, he made his way through the gently falling snow towards Granger, the pain-that-was-not-a-pain lancing across his chest again... He was beginning to think he had a heart after all." The Events of Malfoy Manor with a twist.


_A/N: Hello readers! I've been on Fanfiction for a while now, but this is my first venture into the _Harry Potter_ fandom; I've often felt intimidated to contribute my own measly tidbit to the books that are so near and dear to my heart. Anyway, I figured I would test the waters and try my hand at a one-shot, which contains hints of Dramione. So, if you don't like Dramione, don't read and no flames please! This is just my own personal take on if Draco had escaped with Hermione from Malfoy Manor in the _Deathly Hallows, _written from Draco's POV. So, thanks for checking this out and I hope you enjoy. Constructive criticism is appreciated and reviews are love! _

_Disclaimer: No matter how much I insist that the owl with my Hogwarts letter got lost, I do not own _Harry Potter_ or any of its characters. I just play with them. They belong to the genius that is J.K. Rowling._

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_**Droplets of Blood in the Snow**_

He was folding in on himself, bending in ways he never thought possible. Whether he traveled through time or space, he did not know. Suddenly, he felt as if he were _squeezing_ through a tight tube, his body yanking itself in opposing directions all at the same time and then...

All of a sudden, it was over.

He landed on his back with a loud thud, the impact knocking the wind out of him. Trying to regain his breath, his eyes remained closed. Flashes of green and red light danced behind his lids; the last things he saw besides Potter and Weasley's dumbstruck faces. Yes, it was all coming back to him now.

* * *

_He could still hear Granger's terrible screams, ripping at his insides and echoing in his eardrums. He watched as she writhed _and bled on the floor of his house_, the word "Mudblood" stamped across his vision like a sunspot; the words glaring accusingly up at him from her trembling forearm. _

_He watched. And he watched. Until he could take no more. _

_He had lunged for Granger just as the door to the room burst open, revealing a roughed up Potter and Weasley. He had hesitated at their entrance, unsure of his own actions. That is, until his Aunt Bella hurled the deadly silver blade, covered in Granger's blood. It all happened as if time had slowed, the hilt spinning end over end and flying at him—at Granger-amidst the jets of spells whirling throughout the room._

_Suddenly, he felt a soft and weak hand grasp his forearm tightly and _twist_._

_And he was gone._

* * *

Draco opened his eyes now, his breath regained. He found himself starring up at a barren canopy of trees, laden with more ice than snow. He let out a breath, clouding the air above him. He could feel the damp cold seeping into his bones from the hard ground, which he noticed was covered in a light dusting of snow and a large amount of dead leaves as he sat up.

Suddenly, Draco felt something clawing at his arm viciously. Turning sideways, he was confronted with a bloody and dying Hermione Granger.

Frozen in shock, he starred at her, her hand still desperately clutching his forearm, staining him with her blood.

"…Dittany…in…bag…" She half rasped, half panted, her blood slowly mixing with the snow and leaves beneath her.

Draco, bewildered, looked around frantically until he saw a small plush purple bag lying in the snow not far from him. Limbs shaking, he scrambled to retrieve it.

"Here. Here." Was all he could say, his voice hoarse and quiet in the already deathly silent forest. He kneeled by her side, rooting around in the bag with his hand, only encountering an immense vastness.

"No…_Accio_…" she gurgled, a line of ruby red blood trickling out from the corner of her mouth.

Draco murmured the spell, grimly pleased somewhere deep down inside himself that he could still hear a trace of her trademark know-it-all tone.

Unstopping the bottle with trembling hands, he applied the Dittany to her many cuts. The worst appeared when he ripped open what was left of her damp and bloody shirt, revealing her smooth alabaster skin, marred only by a shallow red line above her right hip. From the corner of his eye as he worked, Draco saw the ornate silver knife gleaming in the night air impaled in the snow, scarlet staining the blade. He swept back his pale blond locks with a bloody hand, feeling everything and nothing at all.

All that remained was her forearm, the offending letters forcibly torn across her skin. This wound he left alone. For some reason, he felt he did not have a right to touch it.

Finally he sat back, watching as muscle and skin and tissue slowly knit back together. Ever the Gryffindor, Granger did not let out a sound, although her face did grimace in pain as silent tears streamed down her face. As her taught limbs relaxed and she began to breathe easier, her cinnamon eyes suddenly locked with his ice blue ones. What he saw there, in the depths of her amber pools, was not completely unwarranted; pain, untrustworthiness, anger, accusation, and even hatred.

Not wanting to face the judgment in her gaze any longer or the words torn across her flesh, he rose stiffly to his feet disdainfully. Turning about, he felt her gentle grasp once more upon his arm. He sighed and rolled his eyes at the darkening sky, meeting her gaze again. This time, he saw puzzlement, begrudging gratitude, and something he couldn't quite identify…or something he was refusing to see.

Taken aback, Draco roughly shook off her arm and stalked a few yards away to a solidly frozen pond. There he knelt in the shadow of the barren trees, dark limbs reaching out like spindly fingers to an unforgiving night sky. The moon his only light to go by, Draco gazed at his reflection.

What he saw there…he wasn't quite sure anymore. He looked more or less like himself, perhaps a tad more pale and drawn compared to his earlier youth. His white blond locks were as pale as ever, as was his sallow skin. But no matter how hard he looked, he still saw the spitting image of his father gazing back at him. Rubbing his eyes tiredly, Draco looked again. For a moment, he fancied he looked slightly more like Snape than his father just now, with his high collard black robes and disheveled state. And for some reason, that realization gave him a small amount of comfort.

Running his hand through his hair once more, a flash of color caught his eye. A lock of his hair was stained scarlet, as were both of his chapped hands. Fingering the red strands of hair, Draco looked harder into the frosty, glassy surface of the pool. And all he saw was red. Granger—The Mudblood's—life essence no less, stained his very being. Yet, he noticed with some chagrin, it was as scarlet as his own blood would be. Maybe as pure, too.

He sat back on his knees, rocking slightly as he starred off into the depths of the thick forest. Ever since that night on the Astronomy Tower—which seemed like years ago-he felt as if his _ideals_ and _beliefs_ and his _purpose_ in life were all being turned on their heads. He didn't know what to _think,_ what to _do_ anymore.

Feeling a light dusting of snow beginning to fall, Draco chanced a glance towards Granger. She was up and about, gingerly circling their clearing, waving his wand and murmuring protective enchantments softly under her breathe, injured arm cradled to her chest. Some part of him appreciated how the brown bushiness of her mane stood out starkly against this barren land she had apparated them to.

His gaze still resting on her, Draco felt a sudden _pain_…a certain _something_, _pang_ in his chest where his heart should be. But he knew he did not have a heart. No, far from it, or so he had believed all his life.

Glancing in the icy pond once more and absentmindedly rubbing his chest, Draco did not see the image of his father or Snape looking back at him. Instead, he thought he saw a glimpse of himself.

Standing stiffly to his feet, he made his way through the gently falling snow towards Granger, the pain-that-was-not-a-pain lancing across his chest again.

He was beginning to think he had a heart after all.

_**End**_

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_A/N: Well, there's that. Not my best work, but I think it's an admirable attempt at my first _HP_ Fanfiction. I intentionally wrote this with little dialogue and with much introspection, and I know it contradicts much of the plot of _Deathly Hallows_. But I wanted to convey Draco acting; doing something under his own steam for once. For much of the series, Draco does not know who he really is or what he really believes. That's why he was a bully; that's why he joined the Death Eaters. He was lost. And I wanted to convey a little of him finding himself, something we don't really fully get to see at the end of _Hallows_. Here, he acts despite his cowardice, despite his fear, even if he does not quite know why yet. He just gives in. And, of course, I had to throw in a few hints of Dramione. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed, and please review! _

_Side Note: Bear with me, much of this fic was written under the lingering effects of anesthesia after a same day surgery I had in the hospital. Inspiration strikes anywhere, I guess. _


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